


The Healer

by evangelinerose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Healer Draco Malfoy, Mystery, Post-War, Romance, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-06-28 18:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19817854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evangelinerose/pseuds/evangelinerose
Summary: Healer! Draco x Ravenclaw!Reader, post War. When the Reader finds herself in St. Mungo’s with serious physical injuries and amnesia, she must slowly uncover her past and the mysterious circumstances of her accident with her Healer, Draco Malfoy.





	1. The Healer

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I'm posting another ongoing Draco x Reader series even though I have another one happening. Self-control? What self-control? Hope anyone who may read this likes it! If you do read it and like it please consider leaving a comment, I am extremely encouraged by them :)

This, you were quite certain, was the worst headache you had ever had.

You didn’t open your eyes but you could smell something harsh and unnatural, like a chemical used for cleaning. Whatever it was, it was overpowering and faintly lemony. There were faint noises coming from your right, but they were muffled and you guessed you must be in a room. Wincing, you began to slowly open your eyes and raise your head.

_Oh_ , your head hurt so terribly.

_Why?_

The room around you was quite small, but there were no other beds. Cream colored curtains adorned the window so that the sun was mostly blocked from shining inside, and all of the sheets and blankets on the bed were so white they made you flinch. Eyes watering now from the pain in your head, they flicked down the bed and you recognized where you must be almost immediately.

You were in a hospital.

Letting out a soft cry of pain, you closed your eyes and fell back on the pillow again. Why were you in the hospital? What had happened to your head, to the rest of your aching body?

_Who are you?_

Your head did another particularly nasty throb when you tried to remember the answer. But you couldn’t. You had no idea what the answer was. But instead of feeling afraid, you mostly just felt dazed. And you wanted the pain in your head to go away, because your stomach was twirling in an unsettling manner.

As if on cue, you heard the door to the room click open. For a moment, the muffled noises of people in the corridor outside swelled to a greater volume, and then subsided as the door closed once more.

You opened your eyes.

Hovering now over your bedside stood a man, a very pale and tall man with white-blonde hair and a pair of white robes to match. His features were rather pointed but he was still on the handsome side; however, his face was not currently arranged into an expression which one could call friendly. It seemed resigned, almost, the way that his eyes – which you noticed were a lovely shade of gray – swept over you. And then you saw his expression twist when he noticed the way your eyes were barely open and watering, the way you cringed in pain from your head and your body.

“Please,” you whispered. “My head-”

It took the man about twenty seconds to wave his wand, summon a syringe, and inject it into your arm. At least, you’re quite sure that’s what he did. Either way, you were happy you didn’t have to drink it, because you weren’t sure you could have. Most of your vision was black at the moment because it hurt to open your eyes wider than a squint.

“For the pain,” he explained quietly. “Can you tell me exactly what’s hurting you?”

“Everything,” you whispered out. “Mostly my head.”

Already, however, the potion he had given you was having an effect. Slowly, you could start to open your eyes as you began feeling better, even though the strange haze that you had felt persisted. His face swam slowly into view as the pain subsided, too, and it was unreadable as he stared down at you. “How did I get here?” you mumbled. “Where am I?”

“You fell,” he said, his tone neutral almost to the point of indifference. “Quite a distance too, I might add. You were banged up pretty badly, and it’ll take a while for your body to gain full recovery -”

“Fell? Fell how?”

There was a very brief pause as his eyes swept over your face. “I do not know.”

“But-”

“You were found,” he continued, his voice rising over your protests, “on the street outside a building of flats, having fallen through glass and from a first floor window. As I said, that means significant damage to-”

“How would I have fallen out a window?” you demanded. The man shifted out of focus and then back in again and you felt suddenly very dizzy.

“Like I said,” he repeated softly, though you could hear an edge of impatience. You swung your eyes up to meet his, but he was now mulling over a piece of paperwork on a clipboard. “I don’t know. That’s something to discuss with the authorities once you’re feeling better. Not me.” He glanced up at you, tapping his pen on the paper. “Now, I need to fill out your patient file, Ms…?”

You just stared at him blankly. He sighed, and then said, with definite impatience now, “I need your name. For the patient file.”

The world swayed again, ever so slightly, but enough to make you a little nauseous all over again. “I don’t know,” you said weakly.

He blinked at you once. Twice. “You don’t know your name?”

You just shook your head quietly, biting your lip. The man came closer to you and waved his wand. You weren’t sure what he was doing, because you saw nothing happen physically – you only felt warm for a moment. But he seemed to have a reason for it, because he was scanning you intently. Finally, he pulled up a chair to the side of your bed. He didn’t bother to stop it from scraping across the tiled floor. “Is there anything you _do_ know?”

“I’m magic,” you said almost immediately. How you knew, you weren’t sure. But you had known what he was doing with the wand and you had known it was, in fact, a wand in the first place, and you had known that it was potion he had been giving you; so you supposed that part of you, at least, hadn’t been erased. It had stayed naturally intact.

“That’s a good sign,” he mumbled, but he wasn’t really talking to you. He was scrawling something out on his clipboard again. It took so long that you began to itch with impatience.

“Will you at least tell me if I’ll ever remember again?” you snapped.

“It seems likely,” he said, glancing up at you before making notes again. But you thought you saw a very faint smile that indicated he was amused with your new, irritated tone.

Git. 

He continued quietly, still barely looking at you, “You have suffered a blow to the head from your fall, but it’s not as bad as it could have been. You were very lucky. Usually with things like this, your memory will slowly return on its own. It’s important you don’t take on too much at once and we make it a more gradual process. Or that headache will start to look tame.” You winced, and his voice softened, his gaze flicking over you once, briefly. “So until you reach a better point, you’ll be under my care.”

“Bloody brilliant,” you muttered darkly.

That made him look up. “Is this a problem?”

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” you reply gruffly, pushing out your lip into a pout.

His lips pulled into a slight frown and his eyes burned into yours again. “By all means, request a Healer that will sugarcoat things for you,” he said roughly.

You recoiled as if you had been slapped, but quickly regained your fire. “What am I supposed to do then, lay here all day with no answers?”

“Until tomorrow, yes,” he answered curtly, raising an eyebrow at you. “You’ll sleep again after I give you this potion, here -” he gestured to another needle on the pristine counter top across the room - “- and tomorrow morning, St. Mungo’s will get the needed details from the authorities that have been checking into your accident. Tomorrow we’ll be able to tell you your name, age, and job, probably. We’ll introduce you to the small details that we know over a few days and after that, well…it’s mostly up to you.”

“Brilliant,” you repeated, with less hostility this time. Your head lurched violently again. Maybe sleep didn’t sound so bad, after all. “Who’re you, then?” Your words came out sounding halted and strange.

He seemed to have read your mind, for he walked over to the counter to take the potion and walked back over to your side. “My name is Draco Malfoy, and I’ll be your Healer,” he said, putting it into your arm with an expert swiftness. Almost immediately, your vision started getting fuzzy and you were finding it difficult to focus. You could just barely make out his hair, shockingly bright against the backdrop of a white ceiling.

Momentarily, your vision flooded with black dots, and then he was leaning over you again. Briefly, before you had to close yours, you saw his eyes extremely clearly - how they were gray, swirling storms hovering over you.

_Malfoy_.

Something tickled your brain, but then the exhaustion took over and everything went completely dark.

“Sleep well,” he whispered.


	2. Small Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader learns some basic information about herself after her accident, and also begins to realize that the road to recovery will be very long and mostly uphill. And despite some tense beginnings with her Healer, she also starts begins to see another side of him that may not be so bad, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it, let me know! It's very encouraging to me :) Hope anyone who reads it enjoys!!!

You groggily opened your eyes the next morning, noticing as you did so that today, at least, your headache was incredibly mild. Still, it felt like you were pulling yourself out of a thick fog, and it took you a long moment to remember where you were and what had happened yesterday.

But then it all came back to you. The hospital room, the blinding whiteness of the sheets and the walls and the smell of lemon disinfectant; your Healer, Draco Malfoy, who was unsympathetic and cold and yet undeniably handsome.

It took only another few moments, however, to notice that you were not in the same room that you had fallen asleep in. Your room and your bed were both slightly bigger now; and though the bed was still adorned with white sheets and blankets they were now more of a cream color, and the curtains over the window were a comforting, rich blue. The walls had a few portraits on them now, witches and wizards wearing robes similar to Malfoy’s. They were all still snoozing, but upon peering at the words underneath the portraits you could see that they were all former Healers of St. Mungo’s.

Although Malfoy had not been entirely warm yesterday, you were still anxious for him to arrive. After all, according to what he said yesterday, his arrival meant some answers.

There were magazines on your bedside table that you amused yourself with until the door handle turned twenty minutes later. Upon seeing that you were awake, he raised his eyebrows expectantly. He placed a folder he had been carrying onto the counter, picked up the clipboard lying there, and walked over to your bedside. “I hope you haven’t been awake too long,” he said as he waved his wand over you.

You felt the warmth over your body again, just as you had yesterday. “Not too long, no,” you answered. “What are you doing when you do that? It feels warm.”

“Just some routine Healing spells to help keep your bones mending properly,” he answered, his eyes on his clipboard again as he wrote things down.

“My…bones were broken?”

His gray eyes flicked up to meet yours. “You fell a long way,” he said finally. “What did you expect?”

“Oh.” You frowned, but he did have a point. No wonder you were so sore. You figured you had hurt yourself in more ways than hitting your head, but you realized you still didn’t know exactly how. “So, what exactly happened to me, then?” you asked.

He set the clipboard down behind him and turned to face you - his towering height was exacerbated by the fact that you were lying down and, looking down at you rather seriously, he said, “The impact of the fall has given you a mild concussion and, of course, damaged your memory abilities. You landed on your back, so there was significant nerve and bone damage. We did what we could, and we’ll need to see how you’ll walk today – you may find you have partial paralysis, at least for a while. Quite frankly, you’re very lucky it’s only partial.” Clearing his throat, he raised an eyebrow at you. You weren’t sure why, but you had the distinct feeling you were being lectured. “Also, you fractured a hip bone, broke your left arm, your right leg, and a few ribs.”

A long silence followed this. “Oh, is that all?” you asked, your very weak attempt at a joke.

He didn’t smile. “As I said, you’re very fortunate-”

“Yeah, okay,” you snapped, cutting him off. “I get it. I fell out of a window and didn’t die, so that means I’m lucky. Thanks.”

He raised his eyebrow even further, if that were possible. “No need to get upset. You asked me to share your injuries with you.”

“I didn’t, however, ask for you to keep telling me how lucky I am after I broke about half of my body and lost my entire memory,” you shot back.

His face twisted into a sneer, and you could tell, despite having only met him yesterday, that it was a practiced facial expression for him. Something tickled the back of your brain again. “If I could be so candid…” You gritted your teeth and glared at him, because you guessed he was going to say what he wanted to say no matter whether you wanted him to or not. “…Most of the time, these falling accidents are due to intoxication. And when you were found and brought here, you had alcohol in your blood.” Your eyes widened as you stared back at him, and he smirked, continuing. “It’s busy season at St. Mungo’s right now, so I don’t have the luxury of time to baby people who get themselves into stupid situations.”

By the end of his speech, you were shaking with fury. “You’re an asshole,” you hissed. “And why wasn’t I told this yesterday?”

He smirked again. “Does it really matter? It’s not like it can be undone.”

“Yes! It does. Because I didn’t drunkenly fall out of the window.” You huffed at him, crossing your arms. “I’m not that stupid.”

“Oh yes?” His thin lips curled up at the ends into a sarcastic smile. “You _know_ that, do you? You _remember_?”

You bristled, and then argued heatedly, “I just…I _know_ that wasn’t what happened, okay? I can feel it. Besides, your job isn’t to judge me. I want a different Healer.”

He seemed like he wanted to make another sardonic comment, but then restrained himself, because he merely closed his mouth before giving you a very strained smile. His entire face slowly became neutral again, carefully composed; except for his eyes, which were blazing. “You’re right, of course. That was unprofessional. I apologize.”

Spinning abruptly on his heel, he turned to take the folder he had set on the counter when he had arrived. “And you can’t have another Healer,” he said sharply. “We’re short-staffed at the moment. Like I said, it’s the busy season.”

“What season might that be?” you said in a voice of forced politeness.

His eyes glanced over you again. “It’s the holiday season,” he answered, and when you gave him another questioning look, he added, “Today is December 14th.”

It was strange to realize you had had no idea before this even what season it had been. For some reason, you had felt it was summer, and so you suffered a brief moment of dizziness at this new information. “Oh,” was all you said, again, quieter this time.

He seemed to notice your change in demeanor, because his voice was much more careful when he spoke again. “Would you like to find out some information about you now?” He held up the folder in his hands.

Swallowing, you eyed the beige colored folder. Inside was information about your identity. Now that it was upon you, you were nervous. Would it hurt, when you found out? Would it make you dizzy or give you a headache? He had said yesterday that going too fast would make yesterday’s headaches seem mild…

You shuddered and automatically flinched at the thought. His face twisted again, but not into a sneer this time. You thought that maybe, just maybe, you saw a hint of softness.

“You’re afraid it will hurt?” he guessed, quietly. “Finding out the time of year disoriented you, and now you’re afraid.”

Looking away, you mutter, “Yes.” You hate admitting weakness to him, and you hated that he was always right when he made a shrewd guess about you.

“No need,” he said, and his voice was still very careful. “We’ll go slow.”

“Okay,” you whispered, because your throat was a bit dry and your heart was pounding far too hard against your rib cage to say anything else.

He opened the folder and scanned over the first piece of paper before peeking back up at you. “Your name,” he said, “is Y/N Y/L/N.”

_Y/N_.

You try the sound of the name in your brain, feel it on the tip of your tongue, and then repeat it out loud. It doesn’t sound wrong, but of course, you wouldn’t know anyway. It felt good. Your head wasn’t spinning. You sighed in relief. “Good,” you said.

“You’re 24 years old,” he continued. “You went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ravenclaw House.” He paused, staring at the paper for a moment. “You were…” You watched a strange expression cross his face, and then he looked up at you, eyes swirling with something completely unrecognizable as he stared at you as if he were seeing you again for the first time.

“I was?” you prompted, eyebrows raised.

He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes back down to the page again. “Nothing.” His eyes moved across the words on the page and you wanted to argue, but he was already speaking again. “Now you’re a researcher. And a good one.” He flipped a page in the folder he was reading over, eyebrows now raised high onto his pale forehead. “You work with plants. You already won a prize, it seems…”

“Sounds like I’m not such a stupid person, after all,” you said, smugly, mostly to hide the fact that you were starting to feel dizzy again and that you could feel a terrible pressure building up behind your eyes. He ignored you and kept his eyes on the file, as you guessed he would, though you thought you may have seen a slight tinge of pink cross his pale cheeks.

But you had one more question. One more thing you really needed to know today about your personal life. “Will my mother or father be coming to visit me?” you asked hopefully.

His eyes met yours and they were suddenly like melted silver. It was strange, how quickly they changed. For the first time, you thought he might be feeling sorry for you. “No,” he said, very softly. There was unease written all over his face, and you got a sick feeling in your stomach.

“Why?” you choked out.

“I think,” he said quietly, “that I should explain that another time. We shouldn’t move too fast. Because you’re hurting already, aren’t you?”

Scowling, you didn’t answer the question. You merely snapped, “So you’re going to know all about me before I will, huh?”

He nodded, and a smile flickered briefly across his lips. “That’s what is best, Y/N. I’m here to help you remember yourself without harming your brain further in the process.”

_Y/N_. It still sounded strange, and yet fitting. The room spun again.

“One more thing,” Draco Malfoy said. “I thought it would interest you that the flat you fell out of was not, in fact, yours.”

You stared at him. “Whose was it?”

“The authorities seem to be having a problem figuring that out, for whatever reason,” he said, and you saw his face twist in irritation at their obvious incompetence. “But I’m sure once they know more, we can too. Not that you should learn more today anyway, of course.”

You nodded, vaguely relieved despite your curiosity. It was difficult to concentrate when your vision was swimming again.

With determined eyes, he waved his wand over you and you felt the pressure in your head ease just a slight bit. “Spell for the head trauma,” he explained, when he saw you looking at him. “Here.” He handed you a bottle of potion. “You’ve had mental stress already, and this afternoon we’re going to practice walking. So you need some rest.”

It didn’t occur to you to argue. A nap did sound amazing, and so you downed the potion in one gulp, coughing and choking on the taste but keeping it down nonetheless.

Sighing, you leaned back against the pillows as you felt the inevitable effects of the sleeping potion start to wash over you already.

_I’m Y/N Y/L/N._

_I’m 24 years old._

_I went to Hogwarts. I’m a Ravenclaw. And I’m a researcher! I won a prize…_

_I work with plants._

All at once, it added up and yet it didn’t. You let these bits of information dance across your brain one more time – felt a strange sort of pleasure that Draco Malfoy had complimented you on your job, the way his eyebrows rose in surprise and perhaps, admiration – before your eyes closed and the darkness and emptiness of sleep overcame you once more.

* * *

When you woke up later that afternoon, it took your Healer almost a whole hour to come into your room. In the time you had been sleeping, more magazines had been added to your bedside table as well as some books, so you spent the time flipping through the magazines and eventually settling in with one of the books.

It was about plants, which must have meant it was Malfoy’s doing. Despite your best efforts to stay angry about his callousness, you felt a surge of gratefulness toward him.

The door opened about half an hour later with a woman bringing food. She introduced herself timidly as Draco Malfoy’s trainee Healer, Janet, then she set down the soup and bread rolls and left you to it, which you were thankful for. After eating, you resumed your reading; Janet came back to get your food and check your vitals a bit later and then informed you that Malfoy would be there shortly.

You felt your heart do a strange leap when he came in the room, but you just quietly watched him enter. This time he came with no paperwork in his hands and he performed his usual round of spells. There was a long silence as he did this before you finally broke it. “Thanks for the books,” you said.

He gave you a crooked smile that made you stare. “No problem,” he answered lightly.

After waving his wand in concentration a few more times, he turned to you. “So,” he said. “Now that you’ve rested more, I want to see how you can walk.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding and moving the bed sheets.

“Your bones have been Healed, of course,” he told you. “That happens quite quickly. But you’ll still probably find that your body will be very sore. What I’m more concerned about is the nerves in your back; which of course, can affect your legs.”

“Right,” you said shakily, trying not to look worried. Chin held high, you started to move your legs over to the side of the bed so that they hovered above the ground. Already, you could feel aches and pains and though you tried not to contort your face to show it, you didn’t quite succeed.

“Here.” His voice was very soft, and you saw he had extended his hand out to you. His eyes were watching you very carefully, concerned – he had seen you flinching in pain. There was no fooling him.

You put your hand in his and were surprised to find that he was very warm. Perhaps it was his pale skin or his personality, but you had predicted his hand would be cold. His fingers wrapped around yours tightly before you slowly applied pressure and made to stand up.

Immediately you began to fall, your legs giving out from under you as you let out a surprised and pained gasp. Just as quickly – like lightning – he was at your side, holding up your body weight completely. It felt as if pins and needles were shooting up your legs even as you were putting most of your weight on him, and you couldn’t help the quiet moan of pain that escaped your lips. “It hurts,” you whispered, feeling the tears and hating them with everything you had.

“I know,” he murmured into your ear, strangely comforting. “Can you take one step? Just try, perhaps-”

You did; and again, you failed miserably. You had put your right foot forward, but it collapsed and he had to pull you back again. Sucking in a deep breath, you felt the pain seep into your entire body. Your back ached, your chest ached, everything burned…you tried again, this time screwing your face up in concentration…

“That’s enough.” His voice was a bit sharper now, his arm tucked around your waist as he held you there and kept you from falling down. “Don’t move more. I’m going to help you to lie down again, okay?”

You just let out a strange, strangled whimper, no longer caring about showing weakness. After a few painful seconds of his shifting, he had lifted you very, very carefully back onto the hospital bed.

The tears were still waiting in your eyes to fall, but you stared down at your useless legs and bit your tongue to keep them away. You would _not_ cry, no matter how upset this made you. “You said it’s not…permanent? Right?” Your voice was faint by the end.

A hand, a very warm and large hand covered yours and you looked up in surprise. Again, there were the eyes. The swirling storms of dark and light gray, filled now with a sudden sort of determination. “No,” he promised. “It’s not permanent. You just need some more time and daily practice. I _will_ fix you.” He regarded you very seriously. “Even your memory.”

Your heart clenched strangely in your chest, but you didn’t know what to say, so you simply nodded. 

He withdrew his hand and stood up very quickly, almost too quickly. Clearing his throat, he merely gave you a nod and pointed at a vial on the table next to your bed. “Take that before you fall asleep.”

“I will. Thank you.” He turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, you called him back. “Hey! Um, Malfoy?”

He turned around again and looked at you with an unreadable expression. “Not Malfoy. Draco.”

“Okay then. Draco.” You felt pink on your cheeks and you said grudgingly, “I just wanted to say that you’re not _always_ an asshole, I guess. And you seem like a competent Healer.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward into a small, yet amused smile, but his eyes also held a twinge of…sadness? Or was it regret? “I’m glad you, at least, think so,” he said finally.

And with that he was gone, leaving you more than a bit confused. At least? What was that supposed to mean?

You didn’t see him for the rest of the evening, but it nagged at you. Mostly you were also just relieved that, despite your earlier spats with him, it seemed you would be able to withstand having him as a Healer after all. Though he still wasn’t overly warm, the fact remained that when you had really needed the empathy today the most, he had not been cruel or sarcastic. He had been much kinder than you had expected.

Still, many of the things he said or did confused you, and you couldn’t help but wonder more about who he was.

Sighing, you lay back against the pillows and reached for your books. Of course, your confusion didn’t mean much. Everything confused you right now. And perhaps, you thought, you should focus on figuring out what happened to you first before trying to dissect your Healer.

_How did you fall out of that window? Whose flat was it?  
_

Shaking yourself a little, you put the thought out of your head.

You’d wait for him; for tomorrow. You didn’t want a headache and if you had learned anything today, it was that you’d have to take things a lot slower than you’d like.

* * *

_You stood in a destroyed courtyard of a castle, looking around you at the sea of black robes. There were people everywhere, but the faces were blurry and distorted. And there was a heavy sadness in the air. This much you knew. People were sobbing and grieving and holding each other, but you still couldn’t see any faces and you didn’t know how to help them, didn’t know what to do…_

_A woman with dark red hair, streaked with gray, was lurking on the other side of a bookshelf, watching you. Were you in a store? It seemed so. And this woman was worn and thin, far too thin, but the way she was looking at you with her gaunt face and knowing eyes made you think that maybe you should talk to her. That maybe you knew her, or that she knew you…_

_A desk, with stacks of papers that you were flipping through, desperately. All you knew was that you were searching for something, something that would change everything. The whole world as you knew it. The scene dissolved before you could find it, but you had a feeling you did. Because even in the black, you could still feel a very distant surge of triumph, of jubilation…_

Gasping, you woke up, wincing when you sat up too quickly and your body protested with sharp jabs of pain all over. It had all felt so real. You had felt everything so very strongly…

But as you lay there, slowly coming to the real world, and as the pale morning light began pushing its way through a small slit in the curtain, it all started to slip away. And the harder you tried to remember, the faster you were forgetting. Until finally, like water slipping out of cupped hands, your dreams had exited your mind and the prospect of breakfast had entered instead.


	3. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are starting to make progress in your recovery, though it’s still a bit too slow for your liking. What you don’t mind is the closeness you are developing with your Healer, Draco Malfoy. He comes up with a way for you to look into the past, together. But it feels like the more you find out, the more questions you have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Language, injury and recovery mention

“So,” said Draco Malfoy to you as he opened your folder - the folder that contained information about your life and, much to your dismay, that his prying gray eyes could read through all he wanted. “Before we begin today’s session, is there any new pain I should know about?”

“Just the usual,” you sighed, shaking your head.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. “You are making progress, you know,” he told you seriously. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

You didn’t answer, though you considered his words. Were you making progress? It _didn’t_ feel like it, that was true. Then again, it had only been five more days, so you weren’t sure what you had been expecting. For the memories to suddenly come flowing back, painlessly and uninhibited? To be able to fully walk again with no problems whatsoever?

Of course, neither of these things had happened yet.

What was especially frustrating was that you felt as if you weren’t making any sort of advancements with your damaged memory. The last few days he had hardly given you any new information, but your head still pounded painfully from headaches, usually in the afternoons. That being said, you had, at least, made some progress with your physical recovery. After practicing every day, you could now walk to grab snacks from the tea room down the hall completely unsupported.

No, it wasn’t much. But it _was_ something.

“I am with walking, I guess,” you agreed reluctantly.

“And your memory,” he corrected, still not moving his gaze from yours. It seemed that lately he was taking extra care to talk directly to you rather than reading through paperwork or writing at the same time; he was far more attentive than he had been before.

“My memory?” you repeated dubiously.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “You’re dreaming very actively-”

“How did you know that?” You had never told him about your dreams at night, because you hadn’t seen the point. By morning, you couldn’t remember anything about them, except that they were definitely strange.

He smirked. “I do check on my patients at night too, you know.”

“Don’t you ever go home?” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and feeling vaguely intruded upon. 

He chuckled. “Not really.”

You stared. It was rare to hear him laugh, but you couldn’t say you disliked it. His entire face changed when he smiled; it became far friendlier, of course, but there was something else. Almost like he became a different person.

“And,” he continued, giving you a pointed look, “You’re already responding much more naturally to your name. For a while there, you didn’t look round when I called you by name. Now you do.”

“Yay,” you said, moodily.

He tilted his head at you. “Are you always so… _delightful_ in the mornings?”

“Are you always so intrusive?” 

He grinned. “I’m sorry. But it is my job, you know.” You just narrowed your eyes at him and he cleared his throat, though it sounded suspiciously like he was hiding a laugh in it. “Anyway, I have a plan that may further things along a bit.”

You perked up at that. “What is this plan?”

In answer, he reached into his robe pockets and pulled out three small, separate vials. Inside the vials were three sets of a swirling white substance. Slowly, you looked up at his face again, recognizing what he was holding. “Are those-?”

“Memories,” he said quietly, in confirmation. “Yours.”

“How did you get those?” you demanded, voice shaking a bit.

“Your dreams,” he said. “After a few nights of seeing you dream, I guessed that you may be getting memory snippets while you sleep. And since you can’t remember them when you wake up…”

“You took them in my sleep,” you finished for him, now staring again at the vials.

The vials that, like your folder, held so many answers…

“And you’re angry?” he guessed, quirking an eyebrow. 

“I-” You paused, debating. “I don’t know. It’s a bit strange that you’re rifling through my life like a file cabinet. Do you know a lot about me by now, then?” 

His eyes suddenly did that _thing_ \- as you were starting to call it in your mind after seeing it a few times over the last five days or so - where they seemed to soften and melt into a liquid gray and then burn. It never failed to fluster you, and this was no exception. You fidgeted uncomfortably on your bed. “You could say that,” he said, carefully. “I’m sure it feels uncomfortable to know so little and see me reading about you.” 

There was a silence in which your eyes searched his face and you hoped he didn’t see the faint blush beginning to warm your cheeks. “It’s awfully one-sided,” you said, pointedly. “That’s not really fair.” 

“Well, life isn’t fair.” But his eyes were glinting with mischief and the corners of his mouth were turned slightly upward.

You sat up a little straighter and peered again at the memories he had set out as he began to scribble something on his clipboard. The substance swirled tantalizingly in the vials and you glanced back at his face. When he wrote, his eyebrows scrunched up in the most adorable, concentrated way- 

“As I was saying,” he said, and you suddenly noticed again that his mouth was moving, and that you had been staring at it, “I think since these dreams are recurring, it’s a good idea to review them. They must be important.” He was searching your face again, rather curiously now.

“What makes you think they’re recurring dreams?” How could he possibly know that? You couldn’t even remember them.

“You talk in your sleep,” he said softly. 

There was an uncomfortable silence. “I see,” you said finally, quietly.

He just set down his clipboard and held out his hand, still looking at you very intently. “St. Mungo’s has a Pensieve for exactly this sort of thing. Are you up for a bit of a walk?” 

Nodding, you took his hand and slipped your legs out of bed, putting your feet directly into the pair of slippers waiting for you on the cold, marble floor. He was beside you, ready to catch you if you fell, but there was no need. You were indeed stronger on your feet, and it no longer pained you to stand up straight. After Draco waved his wand and the vials of memories flew into his robe pockets, you both very slowly began to make your way out of the room, one of his arms tucked around your waist in firm support. 

The walk seemed to take forever - it was much further away than the tea room - and you soon found yourself running out of energy even despite the fact that you were now putting most of your weight on him. Hallway after hallway, right turn, left turn…you tried counting steps as a distraction, but it was getting increasingly more difficult to move your feet without hurting. It had just began to cross your mind that you would have to say something to him about it when, quite suddenly, you found yourself being lifted up off the ground. “We’re almost there,” he murmured in your ear. “You looked like you could use the help.” 

You glanced up at his face, which was a big mistake, in your opinion, because he was smiling down at you. You merely offered a weak smile back that you sincerely hoped didn’t look too dazed. Merlin, why did he have to be so handsome? Five days ago, you had found him surly and mean and insufferable. Today, he was making you nervous.

“Ah, Malfoy.”

The voice was very disdainful, and when your eyes found the speaker you could see that disdain clearly etched all over his face. It was an older man and he, too, was wearing Healer’s robes. He carried himself with an authority that told you that he was certainly no one to mess with. Malfoy, however, straightened up taller and braced his shoulders. “Mr. Corner.”

_Corner_.

The name wiggled at you tantalizingly, the same way Malfoy’s had. But you didn’t have time to ponder this, because you were suddenly noticing that Draco’s arms were tightening their grip on you ever so subtly; almost subconsciously. His face, however, still remained impressively smooth and unperturbed. Corner’s eyes flicked down to you there in his arms, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly self-conscious under his gaze. You averted your eyes, turning pink.

“A friendly reminder,” Corner began, in a voice that suggested the reminder wasn’t actually very friendly at all, “Not to get too attached to patients again, _Malfoy_.” The man said his last name almost furiously, with unbridled contempt; as an insult. “You should realize, especially after last time-”

“My patient has nerve damage and could not make it the rest of the way to the Pensieve for her memory therapy,” Draco cut over him, still quite calm despite the fact that his voice was teeming with a quiet and terrible fury under the surface. “And you’re not my superior, Corner, so if you’ll excuse me…”

The man stepped in front of Draco and your eyes widened, feeling the subtle threat in his wide stance. Draco’s arms tightened around you even more. “I may be soon,” said Corner, his voice low and far, far too silky. Dangerously silky. He leaned in further so that his voice wouldn’t carry to others. “And when I am, I won’t have any Malfoy filth working here, I can assure you.”

_Malfoy filth?_

Peeking up at Draco, you could see wild anger in his eyes now, but the rest of his face was still neutral. You had to admire his restraint. “I apologize,” he said finally, and then his eyes moved down and you realized his words were now meant for you. “Mr. Corner has clearly forgotten that it is rude to keep patients waiting with his blabbing about petty hospital politics.” And with that, he stepped smartly to the side and strode on, eyes still blazing.

You peeked behind him at the man, Corner, who had now turned to watch him walk away. His face was scarlet with rage and he called out in a vicious snarl, “There’s plenty of us who don’t think it was an accident, Malfoy...”

But then he was gone, out of sight, as Draco had suddenly entered a room to the right side of the corridor and slammed the door behind him. Although he was particularly skilled at hiding his emotions, this time you could practically feel the anger radiating off of him in waves as he deposited you on the chair next to the desk. He turned his back on you sharply and marched over to a cabinet on the opposite end of the room, but the stiff hunch of his shoulders betrayed the anger he was feeling even from behind.

“Who was that?” you asked, tentatively.

“A bloody arsehole.”

His tone was the harshest you had ever heard it. In fact, it was still shaking with suppressed fury. You desperately wanted to ask what the man had meant about getting attached to patients, or what he had said about some sort of accident. And why had he hated Draco so much - why had he spat the name Malfoy with such contempt?

_Malfoy_. Your brain tickled for the second time that day with something just out of your reach.

He turned back around, his gray eyes still shining with agitation, and you decided from one glance that you were better off waiting for him to calm down if you truly wanted your answers. For a moment, you thought he was going to shout at you; but then, in front of your eyes, he deflated, his eyes going back to their usual aloof grey and his face carefully composing to a controlled peace.

“The Pensieve is here,” he said matter-of-factually, and you took it to mean that you were not to ask more questions. You bristled in resentment; hating not knowing what was going on, hating having no knowledge whatsoever.

“Fine,” you snapped, struggling to stand.

A ghost of a smile formed on his lips, though it was weak, and he was by your side in an instant. “Need help?”

“No,” you bit out, just as your legs slipped out from under you. He pulled you up with his arms and held you still against him.

“Oh no?” he murmured in your ear, and you could tell he was giving you that mocking grin that, had you not currently been a bit irritated, would have made your heart race a little bit faster.

He helped you over to stand at the basin, which was perched outside of the cabinet and swirling with white substance already. Very faintly, you could see both of your reflections hovering over the pool of liquid. Clearing your throat, you said, “So, are you…coming with me, then?”

“I don’t have to,” he said, seriously. “But seeing as you have a hard time getting around by yourself…”

You made a face, unsure how you felt about him coming into your memories with you. He was your Healer, of course, and this was part of his job, wasn’t it? To get you your memories back? So you knew he had to be involved either way. But sharing your life with him in this way still felt incredibly intimate, and you were afraid of what you may see.

You ignored the ominous feeling and posed a question at him instead. “Why would I need to get around in a memory?”

He looked at you in surprise. “Have you never been inside a Pensieve before?” You shook your head, and he nodded, looking thoughtful. “You’ll see when we get in the memory. You may need to follow your memory self, for example.”

Before you could argue, before you could say another word, he had taken one of the vials from his pocket and put it into the basin. The contents swirled, and automatically, you found yourself leaning forward, trying to watch, to see…

“Touch your face to it,” you heard him say from behind you, as if from very, very far away. You obeyed, and almost immediately you were overcome with the strangest sensations, like you were dissolving and yet solid at the same time; and you were being pulled quickly downward, sucked into the vortex. 

Until finally, you landed. And you saw… _you_.

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised. It was your memory, after all. Perhaps it was this official form of proof that you had indeed existed outside of this hospital after all that was so very shocking - that you were you, Y/N, and you had memories that had actually happened and that you couldn’t remember except in your subconscious. It was like how much you had lost was weighing upon you, fully and completely, for the first time.

“Y/N,” said a voice from beside you, and you looked up to see Draco standing beside you. The arm closest to you was poised at a strange angle and you realized he was ready to catch you if you fell. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” you whispered, moving your gaze back to your memory self.

You were in a bookstore, or that’s what it looked like, at least. And it seemed like you were searching for something very specific, because your memory self was combing the shelves with astonishing speed and purpose. You were so concentrated in your task that you didn’t even see her at first.

A woman had appeared in the other aisle, a woman with red hair flecked with grey. But she wasn’t looking at the books. Her eyes never drifted from you in the aisle over, and they had an almost hungry look in them.

Instinctively, you reached for Draco’s arm beside you and squeezed it tightly, gripped with a sudden fear even though you didn’t know what frightened you about the woman, and even though you were only in a memory.

_I know her_ , you thought instantly. _I know her, there’s something about her_ …

The woman was thin, far too thin. She was thin in a way that probably required medical attention. What was wrong with her? And she continued to watch you, her eyes never straying, patiently waiting for you to see her. Finally, your memory self straightened up from your search and locked eyes with the woman. Her face warped to show the two conflicting emotions of fear and ecstasy; your memory self’s face showed only shock, and confusion.

The scene began to dissolve, but as you felt yourself flying backward, still clutching to Draco’s arm, you realized that one thing, at least, was definitely true: whoever that woman was, your memory self had only just met her.

_But you do know her,_ you thought, confused and feeling a headache coming on. _I do know her, don’t I? How do I know her?…_

Draco’s arm was suddenly tighter around you, and you realized you were back in the hospital room and out of the Pensive, stumbling slightly as he steadied you. “Who was that?” you demanded, though very wearily.

You felt his eyes flicking over you, assessing your physical state. “I do not recognize her, unfortunately,” he said, “And, it seems, neither did you. But she must be important, if your brain is showing this to you over and over.”

“She frightened me,” you murmured, shuddering, and without really realizing you were speaking out loud to him.

His arm moved up and down yours in a soothing motion as he held you standing there, offering comfort. But - and you were thankful for this - he didn’t say anything else, instead letting you mull over what you had seen. Finally, after a long silence, he spoke, and you heard a strain in his voice.

“Can you handle another today?”

“Yes,” you said fiercely, without hesitation. “I can.”

“Are you sure?” He looked very uneasy. “I don’t think-”

“If you baby me any further, Malfoy, I will kill you once I have my strength up.”

“Draco,” he corrected seriously, but his eyes were twinkling.

“You don’t like your last name,” you commented mildly, tilting your head.

“I’m not the only one,” he answered dryly, and your thoughts flew back to Corner and attachments and accidents.

You looked him directly in the eyes. “Why not?”

He pursed his lips, looking away, and then found your gaze again. “I’m sure you’ll find out eventually,” he said, and though it was very well disguised you could hear the hint of bitterness in his voice.

He helped you along to the basin once more; this time, his hand was shaking as he took the vial out of his pocket. “Let me,” you said, reaching out. Your fingers brushed his when you took the vial, and you could feel your cheeks warming up again when you thought of how often you touched him and how much he held you steady and how very little you minded those parts of your recovery. Trying to keep your own hands from shaking, you started to tilt the vial over the basin...

“Wait.” His hand stopped you and you turned to look into the swirling grey of his eyes. There was something suddenly strange and conflicted in them. Almost like fear. “You said it’s unfair, how little you know about me,” he said quietly, “But I have a guess about this dream, and…” He hesitated, then stared at you even more intensely, his eyes searing into yours. “Well...if I’m correct, you may not be complaining much longer about unfairness.”

It took you a moment to process his words. When you finally had realized what they might mean, you gasped out loud. “Hold on,” you began, but he was already taking the vial back and looking determinedly away from you, slight pink on his cheeks as he dumped the second memory into the basin.

“Wait,” you protested, your voice rising in excitement. “Draco, wait!” 

_Draco. Draco Malfoy._

_Draco, wait-_

Your head spun violently, but you did your best to ignore it.

“Do we know each other? Draco? Do we…?”

But you trailed off, not finishing your sentence. He had already put his face to the swirling silver and disappeared into your memory. Into your dream. And despite the ache now steadily building up behind your eyes, you stepped forward resolutely and, after bowing your head into the basin, followed him into your own subconscious mind.


	4. The Second Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Mentions of mature themes such as past trauma, bullying, death, and war, language, creepy old ladies, and much angst™

The first thing that crossed your mind when you landed smack dab in the middle of your own memory was that you weren’t sure how you could have forgotten something like this.

You were standing in what could only be described as the utter ruin of what was once certainly a majestic castle. Now it was totaled, crumbled, in ashes; the desolation of the setting alone should have been enough to jolt your memory. After all, how could your brain have blocked _this_? 

This was _terrifying_ \- something awful had happened here.

You swayed; an arm reached out to steady you.

Looking up, you saw that Draco Malfoy’s eyes were swimming with emotions more raw than you had seen in him so far. One of them was certainly despair.

“You know where we are,” you said without a question in your voice, gesturing around the demolished courtyard.

“We’re at Hogwarts Castle,” he said quietly, with an affirming nod.

_Hogwarts._

A blur of images, bits of information flashed through your mind; classrooms flying with sparks and shouts of teenagers or shimmering with brewing potions, scribbling on parchment in front of a fireplace, the silver and blue of your House on scarfs and badges and robes.

“It’s my school,” you remembered, surprised that it wasn’t making your head ache. He had told you that you had gone here, and he had told you that you were a Ravenclaw; but it was another thing entirely to see all of it and tie it back with real experience.

“Yes,” he murmured in agreement.

Before you could ask him more questions - namely, how it was that he knew this, or perhaps if this was how you knew each other, or why he looked so sad and haunted - a figure began walking along the opposite end of the courtyard, dodging the stone and debris littering the path with their head tucked down.

With a jolt, you realized it was you. But of course it was.

The way you were walking was unmistakable, even if from here you could already tell that this was many years ago due to your different appearance. Your hair was twice the length and a different color, even. Styled completely differently, too. You would have laughed, had you not also felt rather sick and nervously curious at the same time.

Immediately, you start to hurry off after your memory self. You heard Draco’s footsteps right behind you, and good thing, too - you had only gotten halfway there when your legs started to go wonky and you felt as if they were about to collapse. He was there, as he always was, to catch you.

“I can walk,” you said fiercely. “I just need help.”

He obliged your request and did not pick you up; instead, he tucked his arm around your waist and pulled you tightly to his side so that you could lean on him as you both hobbled across the remainder of the courtyard, weaving your way through bits of blasted wall stained with blood.

You shivered involuntarily, and your brain suddenly began to pound again. His eyes found yours. “It’s all right,” he murmured, but suddenly you weren’t so sure he believed that himself, because you saw the very obvious flash of apprehension on his face.

Your memory self - fifteen years old, you reminded yourself, with the strangest sense of wonder and horror - strode down a Hall, turned left, and suddenly came to a gigantic pair of doors, which she also entered after hesitating only for a second outside of them.

A sudden sense of foreboding washed over you, but you steadied yourself against Draco’s side and glanced up at him - he looked even paler than usual, but his face was set - and together, you opened the doors and crossed the threshold into the room.

_The Great Hall._

The words scrambled and unscrambled across your brain, making you suddenly dizzy. But right now, it wasn’t so great.

Right now, it was damaged and lying in utter destruction. Right now, there were groups of people sitting around and none of them were smiling. Most were weeping, in fact, either into their own hands or on a loved one’s shoulder. All were covered with injuries and blood, ash and soot.

And throughout the center of the room lay the bodies. They were all covered with sheets but you knew that’s what they were. You could see the subtle, yet unmistakable outline of people under the blankets. Of death.

“Oh my…” You choked out, tears sparkling in your eyes and leaning on him even more for support. “What is this? Draco, please-”

“A battle,” he said, and his voice was still soothing despite the obvious strain in it. “We were in a war, Y/N.”

“But…how could I…” You trailed off, still not quite able to speak because of the horrible clog in your throat. How many sheets were there? How many dead? Were these your family…your friends?

You went cold. Draco had avoided telling you about family. Was this why?

Were you all alone?

Doubling over suddenly, you fell to your knees and huddled into a ball, taking deep breaths. Your senses were far too stimulated, the familiarity - the _awful_ familiarity was too much. You _remembered_ suddenly, remembered the feeling of being here and the horrible grief and loss-

It hardly registered that he had fallen to the ground beside you, his hands rubbing your back and your arms as he tried to soothe you by whispering your name, over and over, telling you it was okay. But it was hitting you like thousands of pounds all at once, flattening you and making you gasp for breath. And you were suddenly unsure you’d be okay ever again.

Violently, your head spun. If you hadn’t been in a memory, you were sure you would have retched all over the dusty, demolished stone floor.

But then you looked up, because you had to know. And you saw your memory self, seeking her out as quickly and easily as if you remembered everything. And maybe now, when it came to this day, you did.

Because when you saw your memory self hunched over a sheet, sobs wracking her body, you knew the name of the person underneath even without seeing. You knew that her first name had been Lisa, and that she had been your friend and your classmate and had even served detention with you once.

More blurry images flickered across your mind, too quickly to decipher, making the waves of nausea and dizziness even worse. Shivering violently and with a strange, strangled whimper, you double over again, curling up into a tighter ball. Draco’s arms, which you still barely registered, became more desperate in trying to reach you - he wrapped them around you completely now, whispering, “Y/N, it’s all right…we need to get out of here, this isn’t good for you…”

Blinded by tears, you started to look up. But you were distracted by a glint of blonde across the Hall, because it’s familiar.

For a moment you think it’s Draco, until you realize it’s not. The man in question has much longer hair, even if it’s the same color. The similarities, however, are unmistakable - the same sharper facial features, the same grey eyes that could be so cold. Right now, they were dead-looking.

This was his father, and to his left was a younger Draco.

Your eyes widened with a little gasp as you saw him. He looked so different and yet, the same. The same pale skin and the same blonde hair, even if he was covered in soot and his hair was unkempt and wild at this time. His face and his features were younger, all except his eyes; his eyes were worn and tired, and frightened. Underneath were dark shadows, and he was thin. Far, far too thin.

He and his father and the woman with them - undeniably his mother, who also looked strained and straggled looking - were huddled into a little group all on their own, obviously separate from the other mourners. 

Away from all the others. Uncomfortable and nervous.

Why?

Your brain tickled once more, but this time, it clicked.

_Draco Malfoy._

You remembered him.

The images briefly flickered across your brain. And you remembered.

Draco Malfoy, bully and Slytherin and blood purist. Draco Malfoy and his arrogance and his smirk. Draco Malfoy and his family’s allegiance to the great evil, the one that had caused all of this death and pain. Draco Malfoy, who had let Death Eaters into the school…

More images flashed by, faster and faster. You had to close your eyes against the onslaught and the pain, all of the feelings - as if you were experiencing all of it for the first time all over again. All at once.

“Y/N,” you heard a concerned voice say, but it was distant now.

The pain in your head built to a crescendo, and you realized then that you must have been screaming, because nothing had hurt like this in your entire life.

Hundreds of images, faster and faster - a blur.

And then, you succumbed to the pain in your head as the world went black.

* * *

Consciousness was pain.

It was horrible pain, and as you drifted into it you really wished you could go back into the void from which you had come. Back into oblivion.

Your desire to remain in the dark did nothing to stop the slow ascent back into the light. You felt your fingers and hands twitch back with life, and a sharp intake of breath and then a shuffle coming from your left.

A familiar voice. “Y/N,” it whispered. “Y/N, can you open your eyes?”

_No_ , you thought. _No, it hurts_ …

And just as this crossed your mind, you noticed the pain in the rest of your body, the absolute exhaustion. A pressure was on your hand, a warmth as if someone was touching it very carefully. The pressure increased and you realized that it was another hand squeezing yours - ever so slowly, you strained to open your eyes. 

Hovering in your blurry vision was a pale, pointed face with grey eyes that were flooded with concern. For almost a full minute, you just stared at each other - he watched you anxiously, and you met his gaze rather bemusedly - until slowly, everything came rolling back into your mind.

“You’re Draco Malfoy,” you said, hoarsely.

He gave you a small, yet still tight smile. “Yes.” He sounds relieved.

“You’re my Healer,” you said, starting to piece it together. The things you had processed in the dark, the things you had remembered - they were all coming back, and it wasn’t hurting. How long had your brain had to work it through?

“Yes,” he whispers again, and you feel a movement on your hand. Looking down, you see his fingers moving in a soothing motion across the back of your hand. You pull your hand away, to your chest. 

“That doesn’t make sense.”

He withdraws his hand as well, face twisting painfully. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t help me,” you whispered. “You, Draco Malfoy…you _hurt_ people.” Your gaze had moved to stare firmly at your own feet at the edge of the bed as the memories danced in the forefront of your mind; you missed the flash of despair that graced his features before he composed himself.

“I didn’t mean-” He began, but you cut him off, sharper than you intended.

“Don’t say you didn’t mean it. You were a bully, and a bigot. You were cruel. You were a _Death Eater_. Weren’t you?” Finally, you looked up at him.

His shoulders slumped. “You remember everything,” he murmured.

You weren’t so sure about that. “I remember enough,” you said.

“It’s been years since that Battle,” he said, and you could detect the hint of pleading in his voice. “I was a stupid teenager. I became a Healer so I could help people. Fix my mistakes…”

You swallowed thickly, unsure why you suddenly wanted to cry. “You lied to me,” you said quietly. “You left out the War, you didn’t tell me-”

“No,” he said quickly, with vigor. “ _No_. You know that if I had told you earlier, it would have been worse. It’s too much trauma to remember at once. I knew it had to be slower. I knew it would hurt if you remembered too early, and I still let it happen. I thought you were ready.” He buried his face in his hands.

You crossed your arms, not wanting to acknowledge his point. The mocking face of his teenage years was still swimming in your vision; the image of him running through the school with the Death Eaters. It was difficult to reconcile that boy - the one in the old memories that felt so fresh - with this man next to you. “Did you recognize me right away?”

He looked up at you again. “No. Just once I saw your name. You look quite different than you did at school.”

“I saw people die,” you choked out. “Some of my friends _died_ -”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, and I’m sorry-”

“You’re _not_ sorry!” Your voice was a harsh hiss, and again, it surprised you how much venom was in it. But the Draco Malfoy you knew and remembered, the one you must have subconsciously processed while you were out - he had been a terrible human being. You still saw his sneer, the cruelty in the grey eyes that lately, you had come to rather adore. Now, it was as if all of these things had just happened yesterday. “You fought on the _other side_.”

“I regret it,” he told you earnestly. “Y/N, I-”

“I can’t do this right now,” you said tiredly, cutting him off and squeezing your eyes shut. “You teased me, at school. You called me names, you said horrible, horrible things to me - please, I can’t even look at you.”

There was a long silence in which he seemed to have stopped breathing, because it was deathly quiet. And when he finally choked out his response, you could clearly hear the pain in his voice. “I’ll have Janet bring you whatever you need and give you some time to…adjust.”

You nodded, still staring firmly down at your sheets and willing yourself not to tear up. Something very much like betrayal was clogging your chest and was rendering you unable to speak.

You heard the sounds of him standing up and then he said, his voice once again cool and professional, “I’ll be out for the next two days for Christmas Eve and Christmas, then. I would have stayed, of course, but as it is…” He trailed off, clearing his throat a little. “As it is, I’ll just be on call.”

You suddenly realized exactly what he had said and looked up at him. “It’s already Christmas Eve tomorrow?”

“Today, actually,” he said, softly. “You were out for almost a whole week.”

How strange. Of course, it had felt like the blink of an eye to you. The blink of an eye that had changed everything. “Oh.”

“I’ll be going, then,” he muttered, looking away from your face with an undeniable bitterness that he was so obviously trying to hide. You watched him go and wondered if you should say something, or what you would even say _if_ you said something - but then he was gone. And the turmoil and conflict that came with the presence that was the current paradox of Draco Malfoy eased up ever so slightly once he had left.

* * *

It was amazing that, despite being in a perpetual coma for almost a week, you still felt extremely exhausted. 

Though you noted - as you perused the books and magazines at your disposal and munched on food that Janet supplied you with throughout the day - that the physical pain in your body had receded, at least. 

Despite it being rather inconvenient, the time spent passed out here in the Hospital had obviously improved your memory but it had also very much improved your aches and pains. You suspected that the Healing spells had done their amazing work as you obliviously slept, and that the nerve problems and broken bones were nearly all healed up. You hoped this meant you could walk properly the next time you tried.

Regardless, you were still _so_ tired, and so much of the day was spent drifting in and out of sleep, so that the lines between real world and the imaginary were still more blurred than usual.

And that’s why, when the gaunt, red-haired woman from your dreams and memories appeared in your door frame very late into the evening - so late that you wondered how she had gotten inside, or if she wasn’t supposed to be here at all - it took you a moment to realize that she was, indeed, real.

She just stared at you until you let out a small gasp of shock and recognition, struggling to wake up properly and be sure of what you were seeing. “You,” you breathed. “Who are you?!”

Her eyes, fixed on your face, were sad. Anguished. “I’m sorry,” she whispered finally, in an even voice that sounded like a hoarse croak.

“How did you get here?” you demanded, your voice getting stronger. You were defenseless, it was true, but for some reason you did not feel afraid. And so far, she had made no move as if she were going to hurt you. “ _Who are you_?”

She began to back away, slowly shaking her head and reaching a bony arm up to nervously brush her hair out of her eyes. Her eyes darted left and right, up and down the hall nervously, and you concluded that no one knew she was here, after all. Your heart began pounding even harder against your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, and she truly looked it as she backed away further. “It was his idea to find you. I wouldn’t have done it, but…I needed the money.”

“What are you - _what_?” you hissed furiously, eyes widening in sudden fear.

“I didn’t mean it to happen like this,” mumbled the woman, and with one last, fleeting glance over your face, she turned and hurried away.


	5. The Article

Draco’s assistant Janet came running into the room at the sound of your desperate calls, looking more than a bit frantic. “Miss Y/L/N,” she panted, clutching at a stitch in her side. She had obviously sprinted here from down the long hallway. “What is it?”

“There was a woman here,” you said, your words rushing over your lips. “She seemed to know me – she was just there -” You pointed at the doorway.

She frowned, peeking at the direction you were pointing. “Are you sure? You’ve been through a lot and you’re exhausted. Perhaps -”

“Yes!” you argued heatedly. “I recognize her, she was in my memories, my dreams, even…she spoke to me. Said she was sorry,” you insisted desperately, glaring at her with an expression that clearly told her you were not in the mood to be told that you were hallucinating or making things up.

“How would she have gotten here?” Janet mused, looking worried. “We do have security here at night...”

“Obviously she slipped by them,” you snapped. “It was _real_ , Janet.”

For another moment, she observed your intent face. And then she sighed. “If this is true, I need to get Healer Malfoy here right away,” she said. “He’ll want to know what’s happened.” She lowered her voice, speaking more to herself now. “He’s going to _kill_ me for this…”

“Fine,” you said weakly, slumping back against the pillows. So much for a good night’s sleep tonight.

Janet made to leave, but as she turned, you called her back hurriedly, remembering something that you wanted to know. And it was best to ask before he arrived. “Janet! Um…I have a question for you.”

“Go ahead.” She folded her arms, waiting.

“Was there….an accident of some kind? Involving Dra…erm, Healer Malfoy?”

Her eyes widened a little, and she frowned. “How did you know about that?”

“People talk around here,” you said vaguely, not wanting to go into detail about your run in with Corner while Draco had been carrying you to the Pensieve. It seemed like so long ago, and you supposed that wasn’t so strange. Quite a bit of time had passed while you were in your mini coma. You sat up a little straighter against your pillows. “What happened, Janet?”

She just appraised you for a long time with an arched eyebrow, and you wondered briefly if you had done something you shouldn’t have.

This feeling intensified when she turned and simply marched out of the room without a word. What could possibly be this sensitive of a subject that even she was reluctant to speak with you about it?

However, she returned a minute or so later, clutching a piece of paper in her hand. From this distance, it looked to be a newspaper article. Intrigued, you leaned forward, trying to catch the headline – but she folded it and leaned forward, tucking it into your robe pocket. “Listen, Y/N,” she said, rather fiercely. “Do _not_ let him see you with that. This is not a topic he likes to discuss, and I very much doubt he wants you to know. If he doesn’t murder me for tonight, he would for giving you this, you understand?”

You only nodded mutely, feeling your heart flutter wildly with intrigue in your chest. “I’m going to Floo him now,” she said, “And he’ll be here shortly. In other words, don’t try to read it now. Wait until he’s gone. And don’t think badly of him once you do. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” you replied, nodding and trying to hide the mixture of excitement, curiosity, and nerves you were feeling. “Thank you.”

With one last once over, she turned and walked briskly out of the room, leaving you itching to pull the paper out and read it. But you did not want to risk Janet’s job, not after she had done you a favor. And so you obeyed and waited, despite the fact that your mind was buzzing with questions.

* * *

Despite everything, despite telling him to leave you alone mere hours before, your whole body still relaxed when you saw him come rushing into the room.

This was the first time you had seen him in anything other than his Healer robes, and it was most certainly not a sight that you were complaining about. He was in _Muggle_ clothes, and you couldn’t help thinking that for a Pureblood wizard he certainly knew how to utilize their fashion. He was wearing elegant dress pants with a white button up shirt and black tie and you wondered briefly what he had been doing and felt a bit guilty for interrupting what was almost certainly very limited time off. You swallowed and forced your gaze up to his face rather than roaming over his lithe, attractive frame.

His eyes were rather frenzied as he pulled up a chair and sat beside your bed, staring very intently at you. “Tell me everything.”

“It was that red-headed woman from my memories and my dreams,” you told him. “The sickly looking one.”

“I remember,” he said, frowning. “What did she do?”

“She…apologized,” you breathed. “She was acting like this was her fault, but then she mentioned someone else…”

“Did she?” he murmured, looking very thoughtful indeed.

“Yes. She said she wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t sought her out. And if she hadn’t needed the money.”

“Money,” he repeated, blinking.

“That’s what she said,” you confirmed, rather defensively. When he didn’t say anything – merely continued to quietly process what you had told him – you said tentatively, “Could…someone want me dead? Enough to pay for it? Do you think it was her that pushed me out that window?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered finally. His hand twitched toward yours and for a moment you think he’s going to hold your hand, but he either thinks better of it or wasn’t going to do it in the first place, because he only stands up very quickly. You’re not sure what to think or feel about it. “I’m going to tell Janet to have a guard on your door at all times, just in case,” he said firmly. “Are you sure the woman didn’t seem to want to cause you harm?”

“Yes,” you answered. “I think she said what she wanted to say.”

There’s another long pause in which he just looks at you. And then he said, “We’re going to figure this out.” You’re surprised at the fierceness in his voice, which greatly contrasts the softness that has overcome his features. “Okay? I know you don’t trust me, but I promise anyway.”

“Okay,” you replied shakily, more than a little taken aback, not to mention pleased, at his desperate sincerity. He just nodded resolutely, his eyes burning at you one last time before turning to leave. But you call him back. “Wait!”

He turns back around to face you, looking curious now. “I want to go to my flat,” you said, your voice stronger now. “I don’t have too many headaches anymore, not crippling ones anyway, and I had the time to process while I was out. I think I’m ready to go back, at least just to look at it. And there might be some answers there. Please?”

You bite your lip hopefully, wanting him to agree with you. There had to be something to help you at your flat and besides, you were tired of being in this bed now that you were no longer so bloody fragile.

His eyes flicked down so quickly to your teeth chewing on your lower lip that you weren’t sure if you imagined it – and then he spoke. “All right,” he relented. “But I have to come with you.” The look on his face was questioning; he wanted your permission, wanted to know that you were fine with having him there.

“That’s okay,” you told him quietly, thinking of the relief that had surged through you upon seeing him stride into the room. And you realized that he made you feel safe, even if you weren’t about to admit that out loud; perhaps separating the past Draco Malfoy and the present one would be easier than you thought, because the negative feelings were already beginning to fade.

Your brain was healing; sorting all of the new information correctly.

“I’ll be back early tomorrow morning,” he said. “Try and get some rest, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you tell him gratefully. “For coming here so quickly.”

He takes a step forward, peering down at you very seriously. “That’s my job,” he says, as if it was nothing particularly special.

But then very slowly – giving you time to slap him away, you realize – he reaches forward and gently brushes a lock of hair out of your face. Your breath catches at the deliberate movement, and the distinct tenderness in his eyes. How was it that his words could so easily send a different message than his voice or his actions? Was he even aware of the effect it had on you? Not to mention how confusing it all was?

“I hope you can forgive me,” he says very quietly. And then, with one final, tentative smile, he turns and exits the room.

It takes you a few moments to recover from the interaction. Your head is spinning, and it has nothing to do with your amnesia and everything to do with the fact that his presence was a mild intoxicant.

But once you do, you suddenly remember the article. You hear someone come to stand outside your door - the guard, true to Draco's promise; and then you wait extra time just to make sure that he really has left the Hospital before you hurriedly fish the crumpled up article that Janet had given you out of your robe pocket.

Smoothing it out, you begin to read.

**_Tragedy Strikes St. Mungo’s_ **

_St. Mungo’s has released a statement confirming the tragic death of a little girl, whose name has been withheld from the public due to her extremely young age, though the Prophet can confirm that she was only five years old._

_The little girl, a Muggle-born, had been suffering from a serious affliction and had been under the care of recent hire and ex-Death Eater, Healer Draco Malfoy. According to St. Mungo’s official statement, the girl’s illness had already progressed to a point that would make her survival extremely unlikely by the time she was brought into the Hospital, and Mr. Malfoy did everything he could to try and Heal her, and that this tragic death was no fault of his._

_There are, however, those within the Hospital and those outside that are skeptical of the decision to assign Malfoy to a Muggleborn, much less allow him to be a Healer at all. Malfoy joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at sixteen years old and was charged with a variety of crimes including multiple counts of attempted murder as well as breaching the security of Hogwarts School by bringing Death Eaters inside (eventually leading to the death of Albus Dumbledore, then Headmaster). His family were well known supporters of You-Know-Who, and, though they officially defected before the War’s end and young Mr. Malfoy was acquitted of his charges, many still believe he does not belong in a position where he could cause more harm._

“ _It was a Muggleborn girl,” one Healer, who wishes to remain nameless, confided to the Prophet. “It’s not a coincidence.”_

_Another said, “Draco Malfoy always hated Muggleborns. Some of us even believe that he hurried her death along…”_

_The public at large was outraged by this information, but St. Mungo’s stands by its statement and decision to hire Mr. Malfoy, saying he has proved himself to be trustworthy and to have changed. “He gave all he could involving that girl,” one spokesperson said firmly. “His Death Eater past was years ago and he was a scared, stupid teenager. We should not judge based on that.”_

_Opinions seem to vary within the Hospital, and only time shall tell whether this debacle will amount to a more formal investigation of the circumstances._

Feeling rather sick, you took your wand from the bedside table and burned the paper then and there before leaning back on your pillows, your head swirling.

The date on the paper had been a few months ago. You assumed that meant it had not become an investigation, after all.

Your memories of him at school were still strong, and you knew that Draco Malfoy had been many things. A bully, for one, and extremely pompous and arrogant, for another. Not to mention a Pureblood elitist. But you had a very difficult time imagining Draco Malfoy as a cold-blooded killer, even then, and especially now. You had seen how attentive he was with his patients. He cared about them, and cared about his job. The boy at Hogwarts had changed into a different man entirely, and anyone around him on a daily basis should see how obvious it was that he would never have hurt that little girl purposefully.

But, you supposed, sometimes logic and facts didn’t seem to matter, did they? The people often believed what they wanted to believe, especially when there was blame to dole out.

The past, it seemed, continued to follow him – much as yours was.

Your heart was exploding with guilt and affection for him. What a terrible thing it must be, you thought, to lose a patient and then, as if that weren’t enough, for everyone to think you had done it on purpose. At least St. Mungo’s had stood behind him. Or at least, some of St. Mungo’s.

You lay awake for a long time that night, buzzing with excitement about finally going to your flat tomorrow and running over what you had learned about Draco in your mind. 

Even as you began to close your eyes and drift off to sleep, his face never stopped swimming in your mind’s eye.


End file.
